


Maybe Next time

by Ebozay



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Suffering, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebozay/pseuds/Ebozay
Summary: Lexa had a lot to atone for. She had lives worth of mistakes to make right, she had choices and actions and decisions she wished she could take back, that she wished had played out just a little differently. And at the centre of all those things? Clarke. And so, when Lexa finds herself being able to remember every little thing she wished she could do differently, she finds herself willing to hope that maybe her next time would be soon.





	1. Prologue

It was a strange thing, Lexa thought.

And she remembered it all.

She remembered the day she passed the Bar and had called Clarke, when she had rushed home and they had thrown arms around each other.

She remembered Clarke kicking open the door with a scream, a laugh and a smile so fierce upon her lips as she told her she was accepted into the medical program, she even remembered when Clarke had told her she was going to become a teacher, an artist, even an author once.

She remembered forgetting Clarke's 30th birthday, herself too caught up in stopping the new business going under. She remembered the shouting, the broken wine glasses and the way Clarke’s makeup had smeared and bled down her cheeks.

She remembered being a child, being young, being smitten, thinking she had been in love only to find that what she felt hadn’t been more than the smallest of beginnings of what her feelings would become.

And she remembered the first time they had made love, when they had been too eager, too drunk, too foolish in the wandering of their hands in the backseat of Raven’s car.

But above all that?

She remembered the broken gaze. She remembered the heartache, the loss and anger that lived within those brilliantly blue eyes when Clarke had asked _what did you do?_ at the foot of the Mountain, warriors surrounding them both.

She remembered Clarke spitting in her face, she remembered Clarke holding the knife to her throat and she remembered the pain. She remembered the bullet tearing into her stomach, she remembered the blood as it seeped past Clarke’s fingers.

And she remembered.

And so, as all those thoughts cascaded through her mind, Lexa’s fingers drummed across the tabletop, a rapid beat that steadied the frantic monster that hid beneath her chest.

“Will it hurt?” Lexa asked, and her voice was soft, its tone belonging to a life so far removed that she couldn’t quite recall just which memories brought it forth.

But at least it was hers.

“More than you can even imagine,” the man replied, his suit crisp, his tie an unintelligible shade of blue, a brilliance too beautiful to look at for more than a few fierce moments.

“Will she remember anything?” and Lexa paused for a moment, her mind trying to remember, to make sense of everything that ran through her head, “will _I_ remember?”

“No,” and Lexa was glad, she was glad she wouldn’t remember the pain she caused Clarke, and so she breathed out, a slow, steady staccato to the unevenness she felt filling her worried chest.

But the man cleared his throat, his eyes mournful for only a moment before they hardened.

“S _he_ won't remember anything.”

And it was just a moment, just a short few breaths but Lexa smiled then. And perhaps she smiled because she thought and she hoped and she knew that Clarke and her were an inevitability that would always come to be, two halves of a broken whole that could be brutal in all their broken glory yet perfect together, that bled together, that morphed and joined perfectly despite each imperfection that held them apart.

And perhaps Lexa felt relief that she would remember.

If only because she never wished to forget their lives again.

“You will have to live with what you did to her for the rest of your lives,” the man continued after a moment.

And Lexa thought over what he said, and she knew a regret would fill her mind, she knew a loss and a sorrow would always live within her.

But perhaps she could remember her actions and she could try to make amends with each life they shared together.

“Ok,” Lexa said and she found a smile gracing her lips.

And for just a moment she was happier than she had ever felt in all her lives.

And so she met the man’s eyes, the white of the place she found herself in too bright, too dark for her tired mind to understand.

“Thank y—”

And she felt the barely there tug in her chest before it ripped her into the nothingness that awaited.

_I’m coming, Clarke._


	2. Mrs. Woods

_The room seemed too dark and too bright, each flickering of a shadow only a ghost of what it should and could have been. But she paused as she took in the man who sat before her, she paused as thoughts took shape, as memories filtered through her mind, and she let thoughts coalesce and sharpen and focus into a point somewhere in the very far corners of her mind._

_And she knew herself to have done this so many times now. She knew she had sat where she now sat over and over and over. And over._

_And she knew what he would say, she knew what he would ask, what he would do._

_And she knew what she would find herself saying, what she would find herself answering and what she would find herself doing._

_If only because she had said and answered and done the same for each life she had lived since she could comprehend._

_And so she smiled as their eyes met, she let herself take in the deepest of blues and strongest of depths that coloured the tie around his neck and she let herself remember all that she could._

_While she could._

 

* * *

 

Lexa woke slowly, her mind just a little reluctant to slip from the warmth of whatever dream she had been living. Her breaths came in easily, happily, slowly as they let her waking mind settle into its waking senses.

She blinked though, or perhaps not quite, for her eyes remained shut, her sight too reluctant to wake just yet. But Lexa felt the presence behind her shift, she felt it move and settle closer to her warmth and she smiled as she felt the press of a tired body against her back.

Lexa turned then, eyes still closed as she found herself fumbling blindly for a hand, for flesh, for warmth and long sought comfort that seemed to evade her with each passing day.

But she smiled, too. She smiled as she felt the warmth of breath ghost her cheek, she smiled with just a little more fierceness as she felt feet tangle and dance with hers and she smiled as she felt a leg slide its way between her own, as it wove through hers and held her close.

And she smiled.

“Hey,” the voice said, and Lexa always enjoyed the way it sounded as it woke, as sleep clung to it desperately, as tiredness pulled at its edges.

“Hey,” Lexa repeated, and she found herself unwilling, still, to open her eyes, to let herself wake and move too far from her dream.

“You’re awake,” the voice said, its tone just a little teasing.

“I am,” Lexa said, and she couldn’t help but scrunch her nose at the touch she felt ghosting the tip of her nose.

“Then why are your eyes closed?” and Lexa smiled a little more widely than she intended. But perhaps she couldn’t blamed.

Not when she remembered how things had ended.

“Because you always look better in my dreams,” Lexa answered, and she knew she sensed eyes rolls, she knew she sensed feigned annoyance, feigned anger and shock.

“Really?” and Lexa couldn’t help but gasp out just a little as a hand squeezed her hip, as a leg was thrown over her body and as she was pinned to her back as a weight settled over her.

“Really,” Lexa found herself smiling.

“What about now?” and Lexa knew the game they played, she knew the things that were being done.

And so she opened her eyes just in time to see the light grey shirt lifted over sleep tussled hair, wild and curly and free in its movements.

And well, perhaps Lexa couldn’t be blamed for letting her eyes take in the body that hovered over hers, the legs that straddle her torso, and the eyes that smiled down at her with a shine and a depth that she wished had never once been broken and empty and lifeless.

“Good morning, Lexa,” the woman said, and Lexa couldn’t help but let her eyes skim a level lower as the woman let the light of a rising sun catch her chest in just the right way.

“Good morning, Costia.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa had had lifetimes of self reflection, lifetimes of thought and guilt and happiness and burdens and carefree days, but she had always found it odd that certain habits, that certain things had always stuck with her, had always followed her with each life she found herself living.

And so she bit her lip in thought as she watched and waited as the toaster continued to toast, as it continued to heat.

And she knew when the toast was just right from the way the filaments glowed a bright orange, when the toast’s fibres only just began to brown and crust and burn. And so she smiled as the pop echoed out through the kitchen.

Lexa spared only a second as she licked her thumb and finger before reaching forward and taking the toast from where it stood and she smiled to the sound both slices made as they hit the plate with the slightest of crunches.

“I wish you didn’t do that,” Costia said, and Lexa looked up to see the woman watching her from the fridge, a carton of milk in one hand, a carton of orange juice in the other.

“Do what?” but Lexa knew what Costia spoke of, and so she couldn’t help but laugh as her words were met with a rolling of the eyes.

“Licking your fingers before picking up the toast,” and Costia mimed a gag.

“It’s to stop me from burning my fingers,” Lexa countered with a raised eyebrow.

“How would you like it if I licked your glass?” Costia said as she stuck out her tongue.

“How would you like it if I licked your toast?” Lexa said in answer, and she raised one slice to her lips.

“You wouldn’t dare,” and Lexa tried hiding the smile as she saw Costia’s eyes narrow.

“Wouldn’t I?” and Lexa let the tip of her tongue touch the edge of the toast.

“Stop,” and Costia moved across the kitchen more quickly than Lexa anticipated and snatched the toast out of her hands. “Or you’ll regret it,” and Costia glared past the smile twitching at the corners of her lips.

“I’ll regret it?” and Lexa pressed forward just enough that she invaded Costia’s space.

“Yes,” and Costia pushed back just a little as she lifted her chin in defiance.

And so Lexa smiled as she leant forward and licked the corner of Costia’s toast.

“Then make me regret it.”

 

* * *

 

It had always been there, and it wasn’t an overt feeling, it wasn’t even something that seemed to be conscious, but it was always there, always hiding in the furthest parts of her thoughts.

And it wasn’t that Lexa tried not thinking of it, it wasn’t even that it wasn’t something she avoided.

But she had found that her memories of past lives never really affected her, never really seemed to impact what and how her life would unfold.

And it was strange.

It was strange because she remembered every life she had lived, she remembered Clarke, she remembered the times they had had together, the losses, the anguishes, the pains and the loves, and she remembered the lives where they had never quite found each other, where they had never quite been in sync, where their lives had been at different stages, when hers had just begun, where Clarke’s was soon to end, where she had been too old, too young, too afraid, too stubborn, and others where Clarke had been too adventurous, too mysterious, broken, hapless, too fleeting for her to chase.

And for some reason Lexa couldn’t quite figure out just why she had been granted the gift of remembrance.

But maybe it wasn’t a gift.

If only because she wasn’t entirely sure what she would do now that she had found Costia, now that she had found someone she had once shared a life with. And she couldn’t be blamed for holding onto Costia as soon as she had found her, for pursuing Costia. If only because she remembered what they had had last time, she remembered the pain, she remembered the anger, the fury and the satisfaction she had felt when she had thrown the spear into Nia, when she had looked and taken in the life as it bled from that wretched woman’s body.

But yet, in the very corners of her mind, Clarke still existed. And would always exist.

Somewhere.

“You’re quiet today,” and Lexa looked up to find Anya peering at her from across the table, eyes narrowed just a fraction as she took a sip of her coffee.

“Sorry,” Lexa said.

“Don’t be,” and Anya groaned a contented sound as she leant back in her chair.

And not for the first time Lexa found herself eyeing where she thought the bullet had struck Anya in their past life, but only for a moment for she knew that pain, too, was not so pleasant, not so kind to her memories.

“How’s Costia?” Anya asked, and Lexa looked away in thought for only a moment before deciding the truth was something she couldn’t avoid.

“Good,” and Lexa didn’t even try to fight the smile that crept its way upon her lips.

“Good?” and Anya’s eyebrow raised, curiosity piquing for just a moment. “Actually,” and Anya held a hand up. “Don’t tell me,” and she took another sip of her coffee. “I can imagine just what kind of morning you both had,” and Lexa laughed lightly, the sound something she had missed in another life.

“She’s happy,” and Lexa nodded to herself as thoughts took hold within her mind. “We’re happy,” and she looked down at her hand.

“She expect it?” Anya asked.

“No,” and Lexa thought for a moment. “Yes,” she added. “Sort of,” and Anya’s eyes rolled. “We’ve talked about it before, so she knew it was going to happen.”

“Just not when,” Anya said.

“Yeah,” and Lexa found herself thinking of futures, thinking of days to come and she couldn’t help but to feel the smile that pulled at her lips.

“You know,” and Anya leant forward, eyes shining just a little in the morning light.

“I know?” Lexa trailed off, gaze narrowing a fraction as Anya’s lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Seeing as though I’m the one who set you both up,” and Lexa thought she knew where the conversation would end up going.

“No,” and Lexa laughed as Anya glared, lifted her chin and hardened her gaze.

“Yes,” Anya said, and Lexa knew the other woman wouldn’t give up so easily.

“No,” Lexa repeated.

“Why not?” Anya asked as she leant back in her chair, fingers tapping against the rim of the cup held in her hands.

“Because,” Lexa said, and she paused for just a moment as she tried to think of a better reason than simply _because._

“Because?”

“Because we aren’t thinking about kids yet,” and Lexa saw Anya scoff.

“Maybe you aren’t,” Anya said. “But she is. And I know her and I know you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that you’ll cave, maybe you have already, you just don’t know it yet,” and Anya smirked as she took a sip. “And when you do, you’ll need to sell the car because it can barely fit both of you already,” Anya gestured to herself then. “And I’m in the market for a car that goes much too fast for a pregnant woman, especially one that can’t quite fit two people, let alone three or four.”

“Maybe the kids will go on the roof,” Lexa said.

“Oh,” and Anya’s lip quirked up at the corners. “So it’s more than one, now?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Lexa said as her eyes rolled.

“You’re really just a big sap, I know it, and you know it,” Anya leant back then, arms crossing over her chest as a smug smile spread across her lips. “I bet you secretly dream about having lots of kids, a nice big wedding, and cuddles by a roaring fire.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

But secretly?

She did.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had almost forgotten what it had felt like to be able to sleep in, to be able to enjoy the warmth of the bed, of another body beside hers, to even feel the softness of bed sheets without the constant bite of a knife hidden within furs.

But as she rolled onto her back, as she let her toes brush against the softest of sheets, and as she let the warmth of the pillow cradle her head, she couldn’t quite hold back the moan of satisfaction and delight.

And she enjoyed the life she lived, she enjoyed the days she would spend at work, where she would talk quietly at times, where she would scowl, would threaten, would cajole, humour and persuade when needed. She even enjoyed the bad days, the days when it rained, the days when it was too cold.

And she enjoyed those too cold days for her body never ached like it had, it never felt every stinging scar that had littered her body, where she hadn’t broken her nose four times before she had even learnt to fire arrow from too large bow.

But most of all?”

She enjo—

“Too much,” she gasped out as pleasure seemed to cascade through her mind, as her chest rose too heavily, as her eyes seemed to see stars, as her flesh seemed to tingle and burn and throb with every little twitching of her senses. “Too much,” she whimpered just a little too breathlessly. But perhaps she didn’t want it to stop, perhaps she didn’t ever want it to end.

And she knew that Costia knew she didn’t really wish for it to end from the way she hummed.

And perhaps Lexa could be forgiven for not quite letting thoughts of golden flames and piercing skies take purchase within her mind. Not this time, at least.

Costia looked up at the whimpers she couldn’t hold back, and Lexa found herself drawn into the way Costia’s eyes seemed to smirk with little struggle, how they sparkled just slightly as the light seemed to be captured between them both.

“What?” and Lexa couldn’t quite discern what emotion she saw within Costia’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Costia said lightly, chin resting against Lexa’s upper thigh.

But Lexa thought there more, or perhaps she sensed it, and so she let her own eyebrow raise a fraction as she sat up from the bed.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as Costia’s gaze seemed to travel to a place not so close, yet distant enough that Lexa knew the woman lost in thought.

“You’d make a good mother,” Costia said, and it came out simple, straightforward.

And of all the things Costia could have said, that would have been the least likely one Lexa would have guessed.

But Lexa couldn’t fight the slightest of smiles that began to form at the corners of her lips as she looked down at Costia whose head now lay nestled in her lap.

“Is that so?” Lexa asked.

“It is so,” Costia answered with a shrug and a smile.

“What’s brought this up?” Lexa said, and she couldn’t help but to cast her mind back as far as it could in an attempt to find the moment where Costia must have decided what she had.

“Nothing,” Costia said as she pressed her lips to Lexa’s thigh for a moment. “Really,” she continued as Lexa found an eyebrow raising once more.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Costia smiled a little more freely then. “I’m serious,” and a laugh whisked past her lips quietly as Lexa prodded her ribs. “I just have a feeling, that’s all.”

And so Lexa found herself thinking of children, thinking of the life she lived, of the days and weeks, months and years she had been with Costia, and perhaps, if only for a moment, she found that thoughts of golden hair and blue eyes didn’t quite make themselves known to her.

“You’d make a good mother, too, Cos.”

“You really think so?” and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel her heart ache at the way uncertainty touched the edges of Costia’s voice.

“I do,” Lexa said, and she meant it. “I really do” and she shifted just enough so that Costia needed to rise onto her knees so that they both looked each other in the eyes. “You’re kind,” and Lexa couldn’t fight the smile as she leant forward a placed a kiss upon Costia’s nose. “You’re strong,” and she laughed as she poked Costia’s ribs only for the woman to squeal quietly at the tickle. “Beautiful,” and Lexa let her hands come to rest upon Costia’s hips. “Smart. Charming,” and she leant forward and kissed Costia’s lips lightly. “Funny,” and she pressed herself against the woman for a moment, she leant their hearts beat together, and she let herself embrace the feeling as Costia’s lashes brushed against her cheek. “Sexy.”

“Ok sweet-talker,” and Costia leant back enough so that she could see into Lexa’s gaze clearly. “Enough with that,” and she hummed for a moment in thought. “But,” and Lexa’s eyebrow rose just a fraction.

“But?”

“Have you thought about it?” Costia asked.

“Yeah,” and perhaps she hadn’t expected the conversation to happen like it had, perhaps she hadn’t expected it to come up in the middle of an early morning tryst between the sheets, where glistening body slid against sensitive flesh. And yet it had. “Have you?”

“I have,” Costia answered with a shrug, and Lexa couldn’t help but to admire the way the light streaming in from the window caught Costia’s shoulder, how it followed the dips of her chest. “Eyes up perv,” she laughed.

“Sorry,” and Lexa didn’t even try to fight the smirk upon her lips.

“And kids?” Costia asked once more, and Lexa found herself biting her lip as she imagined what it would be like, what it would feel like to have kids of her own.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve thought about it, too.”

“Cool,” and Costia’s response came nonchalant, easy and a little too relaxed.

“What?” Lexa’s head tilted to the side.

“Nothing.”

“Cos.”

“Names?”

And perhaps Lexa had never quite thought that far ahead. And it wasn’t for any particular reason, just that it had never seemed to have crossed her mind.

“Well,” Lexa began. “Not real—”

“Shotgun.”

“No. Costia. You can’t shotgun our kid’s names.”

 

* * *

 

It was dark, the sky seemed to cling to the clouds that drifted aimlessly on the wind somewhere too high up for Lexa to grasp. She blinked back the tired clouding her vision, she tried not to let her eyes close too much with each passing streetlamp and she couldn’t help but to feel a guilt and an anxiety just barely creeping into the corners of her mind.

The radio played a song that thumped and echoed out through her car’s cabin with little more than the quiet whisperings of a familiar tune. She found herself curing work though, and she found herself cursing the hour, cursing the moon that hung too high in the night, and she found herself cursing the way her thumb continued to tap against the steering wheel as she turned one last corner.

But her car came to a stop with little fanfare, with little more than a careful rumble and the flashing of her lights as they dimmed and clicked off, leaving her in a dark and a silence that seemed a little too foreboding.

And yet, she couldn’t help but to worry, couldn’t help but to hope and wish and think of something a little less bleak than the images that seemed to take place within her mind.

“Come on,” Lexa said aloud, and she looked away from her reflection in the glass and she tried to spy movement behind the curtained window closest to her, where a sliver of light cut a swathe of life into the outside dark.

And so Lexa sighed, and to her it seemed heavy, it seemed lost, a little sad, a little too pathetic, but she steeled herself as she stepped from her car, tucked the flowers close to her body and shivered in the cold as she let her car door thump shut behind her.

And three six steps, perhaps seven if she let herself, before she came to the door, a hand already pulling out her keys.

But as her hand reached out, as it clawed at the doorknob, she heard the click of the lock, she heard the rattle of metal scraping against wood and she winced as the door swung open to reveal a light too blinding in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” perhaps she truth was the simplest thing she could say. Perhaps it was the safest. “I’m sorry I’m late,” _again._

“Are they for me?” Costia’s gaze seemed directed to the flowers clutched in her hands, yellow ones that seemed to glow, dance and sing to the slightest sign of movement.

“Yes,” and Lexa watched as her hand reached out and offered them as inelegantly as she could have ever imagined. “For you.”

Costia eyed them for a moment before signing, taking a step back.

“Come in,” she said. “It’s cold.”

And so Lexa bit her lip as she stepped over the threshold, but she couldn’t help but to moan quietly as the heat engulfed her, as the warmth of her home took away the cold of the night. Costia took the flowers from her then, and Lexa couldn’t help but to watch and smile as Costia brought them to her nose and inhaled for a long moment.

“Thank you,” Costia said gently as she looked up through her lashes. “They’re beautiful.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Lexa said, and she let her toes spread for a moment as she kicked off her shoes and let the floor meet the bottom of her feet for a long moment.

“What was it this time?” Costia asked as she leant against the wall, her gaze tender as she watched Lexa place her keys onto the table nearby and hang her coat.

“We almost lost a client,” Lexa said as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, but she shrugged for a second. “I got them back.”

“That’s good,” Costia hummed as she brought the flowers to her nose again. “I wish you didn’t feel guilty, Lex,” she said, and one of her fingers traced a petal. “I don’t want to start associating flowers with you feeling bad about something.”

“I said I’d be home before nine,” Lexa countered. “It’s long past that.”

“It is,” Costia agreed. “Are you hungry?” and she nodded towards the kitchen.

“No,” and Lexa shook her head as she moved deeper into their home. “I just—” and Lexa tried thinking of what to say, or perhaps simply how to say what she desired. “I’m tired,” and she paused and turned to meet Costia fully. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” and Costia took a few steps closer before coming to stand before her, one hand rising up to brush a strand of hair from Lexa’s forehead as her other reached out and squeezed Lexa’s wrist. “You’ve had shadows under your eyes for days, Lex,” and Costia leant closer until she could rest their foreheads together. “You can’t take a break? Take leave for a few days?”

“N—”

“I know,” Costia preempted. “I know,” and she pressed a kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “I just miss you.”

“I do, too,” and Lexa meant it, more than anything. “I’m so—”

But a yawn cut Lexa’s words off, and she found her eyes beginning to close ever so slowly, she felt herself beginning to lean more and more into Costia for support.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” Costia whispered, “you’ll crush the flowers,” and Lexa couldn’t quite find it in herself to care enough to do much more than hum an acknowledgement of words having been spoken. “Stay awake for a little while longer,” and Costia’s hand came to press against her chest. “I’ll start a bath for us.”

 

* * *

 

“No,” Lexa said as she continued to eye her reflection in the computer screen.

“Why not?” and from her tone Lexa was sure Costia pouted.

“Because,” Lexa tried not to let her lips twitch, she tried not to let her eyes follow the movements of the kitten as it pounced.

“Because?” Lexa felt Costia lean a little closer.

“You know why,” Lexa said, but she knew she felt her resolve slowly beginning to fade and crumble.

“It won’t be that bad,” Costia said as she clicked the next video, and Lexa couldn’t quite stifle the twitch at the corner of her lips as Costia squealed at the round ball of energy that began to play across the laptop screen.

 

* * *

 

“When you guys said you wanted to take the next step in your marriage,” and Raven blinked between them for a long moment. “I thought you were being more serious than this.”

“Hey,” Lexa said, and despite the truth of Raven’s words, she couldn’t help but to feel as though her honour had been challenged, that her strength of character had been wounded.

“You’re seriously going to argue with me on this?” and Raven’s smirk seemed to sit far too comfortably upon her lips.

“We are,” Costia said, and Lexa found herself nodding her head, expression turning smug as Costia leant a little closer into her.

“See what I deal with, Raven?” Anya said as she brought a cup to her lips and inhaled the scents of coffee.

“Too much,” Raven agreed.

“You’re just annoyed that Lex never sold you her car,” Costia said, and Lexa couldn’t help but to admire the fire in Costia’s voice.

“I am,” and Anya nodded for a moment. “But when you started talking names, genders, how many,” and she paused, and Lexa thought Anya took a moment to try to think of any other things she had forgotten. “We thought you were talking about children,” she finished.

“And not cats,” Raven said.

“Granted,” and Anya laughed for a moment. “Spike would have been a horrible name for a kid. That should have clued us in.”

“You’ll change your tune when we get one,” Costia said as her arms crossed over her chest. “You’ll all want to come over, babysit. Look after, play, cuddle it,” and Costia drifted off for a moment as she blinked and looked around herself, as she seemed to think, to ponder something a little too challenging for her to grasp in the moment.

“You forget something?” Anya ask.

“No,” Costia shrugged. “Just,” and she frowned, and Lexa found herself reaching out and squeezing Costia’s knee for a moment. “Just thinking,” she finished with a shrug.

“Ok,” and Raven clapped her hands together. “Enough talk about cats. When are the _children_ coming?”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s feet slapped against the ground, each bounding leap she took sending her forward faster and faster and faster. Her lungs expanded with each breath she took in and her heart raced as blood pumped and flooded through her veins. The sun sat high in the morning sky, the birds chirped and sung overhead, and the wind whistled through the air with an intensity that made her smile, that made her eyes flash and her thoughts run free.

She turned a corner, she squinted as the sun dipped into her gaze for a short moment and she she pressed onwards as sweat clung to her face, and as her muscles ached their joy to the world.

It was moments like this that Lexa found her thoughts seemed to wander for a long while without quite finding a place to call home, at least not for a long while. And she thought that all it took for her to think far enough back, for her to remember the pain, the blood, the yelling, the knife pressed to her throat, and the feel of trembling lips pressed against hers was a state of euphoria, was the time when her brain screamed for oxygen, when her lungs ached for reprieve.

And so she couldn’t even try to think of much more than the hair that would glow gold in the sun, of the eyes that would shine a dazzling blue, and the anger, the determination, the ferocity and resolve of a woman who had crashed against her heart and mind and disarmed her as if she had been a child, a girl barely old enough to hold a sword in her hand.

Lexa took a longer than usual stride as she skipped over a puddle, the drink fountain having long since dripped its life into the ground around its base. But Lexa didn’t mind that, didn’t mind the break in her step, if only because it gave her a challenge, made her consider her surroundings, be aware of the things that happened, that existed, that would always exist around her, easily seen, easily dismis—

_Blonde._

Lexa’s gaze snapped to a woman who ran past her, whose gaze was directed forwards, whose steps came lithe, elegant and determined.

_Blonde._

Lexa’s breath seemed to stammer, seemed to freeze, her heart seemed to scream and her lungs seemed to beg.

She took just a moment to think, to try to organise, to relive, to acknowledge what she had seen.

_Blonde._

Lexa let herself blink just once, just twice, enough that her vision would have cleared the demon from her sight, yet the woman still existed, still retreated into the distance.

_Clarke._

Lexa took a moment to accept what she must have been seeing, what she must have been feeling, and she knew she would have to think, would have to war with herself in days to come.

But for now?

“Hey!” and Lexa’s voice called out to the woman, she turned and she began to run after her, and perhaps Lexa should have considered what it must have been like, what it must look like to run after a strange, to yell at them, to wave, to give chase.

But the woman seemed to ignore, seemed not to listen, not to acknowledge.

Not to hear.

And Lexa saw the earphones, she saw the cords, the white of their colour, and she knew her voice to be unheard, unregistered.

And so she sped forward, she grimaced as her legs moved as fast as they had once done up the sides of a mountain bathed in blood and she grit her teeth, she snarled her demons and she let her hand reach out, she let her fingers just barely brush against cloth, sweat, fabric and a drea—

“Oh,” Lexa said and she found herself blinking, found herself staring the woman in the eyes, found herself trying to recognise.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, and the blue of her eyes seemed curious, concerned, apprehensive, unsure.

“I—” and Lexa bit her lip, cursed herself and tried not to let the emotion she felt in her chest take hold. “No,” and she shook her head. “No,” and she grimaced for a moment. “I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I knew.”

“Oh,” and the woman looked around, tucked a strand of too dark hair behind an ear and smiled as awkwardly as Lexa could imagine a smile to be. “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Costia said as she sat down opposite her. “How is it?” and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel an ache in her heart at the way Costia looked from the fork to her lips with apprehension and anxiousness.

“It’s,” and Lexa paused as she chewed, as she let the tastes fill her senses. “It’s good,” and she meant it. At least partly.

“You aren’t lying?” and Costia bit her lip as she leant forward, a fork in her own hand as she reached for the plate between them.

“No,” and Lexa watched as Costia took a bite, her gaze followed the fork as it came to Costia’s lips, and she couldn’t help but to smile as Costia blew on it for just a moment before braving forward. “I told you it’s good.”

Costia chewed for another moment then, and Lexa couldn’t help but to laugh as Costia’s nose crinkled, as she hummed and seemed to shift the food across her tastebuds.

“Yeah,” Costia said with a shrug. “Not bad.”

“So,” and Lexa leant forward, her own fork already reaching for another piece. “You’ll start cooking more often?” and Lexa was sure her eyes smiled as Costia glared.

“You just want me to do all the work, don’t you?”

“That’s not true,” Lexa said, and she let her voice fill with feigned hurt, “I love your cooking. I love the things you make,” Costia’s eyes rolled. “I love your deserts, your baking, yo—”

Costia winced then, a hand came up to rub against her forehead for a moment and she grimaced as her eyes closed and as her breathing came out a little more laboured.

“You ok, Cos?” Lexa asked, one hand already reaching for her across the table.

“Yeah,” Costia shrugged as she blinked and let her gaze settle onto the present. “Just a headache.”

 

* * *

 

The steam fogged her vision, the heat stole her breath, and Lexa couldn’t help but to wipe away at the shower window, at the steam that clouded the glass. And she did so for Costia stood not far, her figure silhouetted by the haze of the steam, by the halo of light that broke through the air from an overhead light, and from the reflections of the metals, porcelain and tile that decorated the bathroom.

Water beat down upon her shoulders, each drop sending a shiver of warmth, of excitement, ease and comfort down her spine. Lexa smiled into the heat, she smiled into the vision before her and she tried not to let her mind slip too far away, too close to days, lives, times long gone, when she had been older, if not in body, then in mind.

And perhaps it was a guilt, something that would always linger, something that would always exist. But she recognised the guilt, for she couldn’t help but to feel it each time she met Costia’s gaze.

And it was because some part of her would always long for Clarke, would always call out to the woman with golden hair and crystal blue eyes. Some part of her would always reach for the girl who had fallen from the sky, and some part of her would always love the woman who had come to her time after time, who had begged for the life of those she had loved, had held knife to her throat, and who had kissed her with a desperation and a desire that had made her heart soar and beat and thrum with something more than weakness.

But perhaps all those things were not for her to have.

At least in this life.

“What?”

Costia’s voice surprised her, it sent a shiver down her spine, and Lexa couldn’t help but to jerk away in barely contained surprise as Costia’s body pressed against her back, the woman seemingly having slipped into the shower with little sound.

“Just lost in thought,” Lexa answered, and she found herself resting her forehead against the cool of the glass as Costia pressed her lips to the back of her neck.

“What thoughts?” Costia murmured.

“Nice thoughts,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to whimper just barely as Costia’s hands began to wander with ease, with laze, with want and fervour.

“Nice thoughts?” Costia echoed as a hand travelled down Lexa’s body ever so slowly, her finger tips tantalising, teasing, cruel and wicked.

And so Lexa couldn’t even try to suppress the moan that came next.

“Very nice thoughts.”

 

* * *

 

The sounds of feet pattering against the hardwood floor mixed with the sounds of cutlery clinking against plates, each little bouncing step that followed seemed to come with far too much excitement, far too much energy and yet Lexa found it to be endless, limitless and eternal.

“You know,” Costia began, fork midway to her lips. “We’re going to have to find a way to keep Spike from breaking anything,” and she gestured to the kitten that jumped after a small ball that bounced and spun and rolled as Lexa kicked it away with a laugh and a smile.

“We are,” Lexa agreed, and she pulled her away from Spike for long enough to find Costia smiling at her.

“I told you that a cat would be good,” and Costia seemed smug, seemed happy, confident.

“You did,” Lexa said, and she wouldn’t even try to deny.

But Costia’s attention turned to Spike, and Lexa watched as Costia winced for just a moment as Spike seemed to run into a piece of furniture far too fast for it to not have hurt, but, despite that Spike seemed to shrug it off, seemed too happy, too eager to give chase to the ball Lexa had kicked that now rolled somewhere across the other side of the room.

“He’s going to be trouble,” Costia said, and Lexa knew Costia spoke with no disquiet, no desire for anything to be different.

“He is,” and Lexa shrugged as she lifted her fork to her lips and bit down. “But,” and she chewed briefly. “It’ll get Raven and Anya off our backs.”

“Only for a while,” Costia laughed. “Then they’ll start asking the same questions all over again,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to agree.

“I know,” and she sighed, she glanced to Spike in time to see his tail disappear inside a cardboard box of old books still packed.

“Let me get him,” Costia said with a laugh, “I don’t want him chewing your mother’s books again,” and Lexa found herself being pulled closer and closer to Costia’s voice as it sang out to her ever so quietly, as the laugh seemed to give the timbre of her voice a warmth, a life and a spark of something she had long missed. “She’d never forgive me if I let anyth—”

But Costia winced, her hand came to her head.

“Cos?” Lexa found herself coming to her feet, the chair she had sat in scraping against the floor. “Cos?” and she took a step closer to her as Costia’s hand reached up, as it came to press against the side of her head firmly.

“I’m ok,” Costia grimaced. “It’s just,” she paused, she bit her lip and looked away as tears seemed to well in the corners of her eyes.

“Costia,” it wasn’t quite panic that filled her voice, if only because Lexa thought whatever happened to be a joke, a jest, a fabled story the universe would dare not repeat.

“I’m ok,” Costia repeated as her hand wiped away at the tears, but the motion screamed of pained, screamed of fear, of uncertainty, of something Lexa knew she recognised. “It’s just—” Costia’s hand wiped at her nose, and as her hand pulled away Lexa’s eyes widened in horror, in panic, in anger and fear and fury as blood seemed to cling to every inch of Costia’s palm, as it seemed to etch itself into the creases of her skin, into the very pores of her flesh. “I’m—” a pause. Something too long, too sudden, too broken. “I— Onl— ju—”

And Costia’s eyes rolled back, her lips slackened.

And she fell.

 

* * *

 

Lexa woke to a pale early morning. Rays of light streamed in through the windows whose blinds were cast aside to reveal a morning still young, still uncertain of the hour.

It took her a moment of waking before she let herself shift in the bed in search for the warmth of Costia’s body, but as her hand reached out behind her, as she fumbled aimlessly with wandering hands, she found herself alone, she found herself in an empty bed, where the heat she had thought she felt was nothing more than the shadow of a presence.

“I’m here,” Costia’s voice reached out to her ever so gently, each slight syllable enough to fill the quiet of their bedroom with its timbre, with its defiance to the cold.

“Cos?” and Lexa groaned as she turned, as she squinted past a ray of light.

“Here,” and Lexa’s gaze settled on Costia who sat at the foot of the bed, legs draped over its side as her hands hang limp and listless over her knees.

“What time is it?” Lexa asked.

“Early,” Costia answered, and Lexa hated the shallowness of breath, the coolness of her voice. “Too early.”

Lexa took in a steadying breath before she cast aside the blankets, let the cold morning prickle her skin. And she found herself falling into a rhythm, into a routine that seemed too cruel, too short, too swift for her to understand. But Lexa came to rest beside Costia on the edge of their bed, she found her hand reaching out for her hand, and she watched with a breath that seemed too uncertain, too fearful, too knowing to do more than ache past her lips.

“I’m scared, Lex,” and Costia’s voice broke the silence, it cut a searing pain into her heart and it made her think of a life so far gone that, at times, she had thought herself a dreamer. “I’m so, so scared.”

And perhaps Lexa shouldn’t have been surprised by the tears she felt welling in her eyes, perhaps she should have expected the shaking of her fingers, and the quiet choked sob that broke past her own lips.

“We’ll get through this, Cos,” and she squeezed Costia’s hand as tightly as she could. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

But Costia’s head shook, it seemed to deny the very words Lexa spoke.

“We’re in this together,” Lexa whispered. “I won’t leave you. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever,” and she hated that her memories seemed to bring forth images of pain, of blood, of lifeless eyes that stared up at her with a suffering that broke her mind as much as it broke her heart.

“It’s not fair,” Costia’s voice seemed small, seemed childlike, too innocent, too full of longing and desperation for Lexa to stand.

But, perhaps what made Lexa’s blood boil, what made her rage into the night, what made her want to scream and beg and plead was the fact that she thought Costia too kind to suffer, too innocent for the lives she had had to live full of pain.

“I love you, Costia,” Lexa whispered as she pulled Costia closer to her. “I will love you for all of today,” and Lexa blinked away the tears as she pressed her lips to Costia’s forehead. “I will love you for all of tomorrow, and all of the days to come. Until I don’t know how to love anymore,” and Lexa hated the pain, the ache and the agony that seemed to be slowly coming to settle within her mind.

And, as Costia’s pain seemed to grow with each ragged breath that escaped past her lips, Lexa found herself thinking that life had been so unkind to Costia.

And Costia deserved so much better.

 

* * *

 

The world outside seemed to pass her by with little care for the days, for the nights, for the cold and the heat, the warmth and the aches. Some days she found herself not so sure of what to do, others she seemed to know, seemed to embrace, seemed to cherish each moment with an eagerness that never sat too easily upon her shoulders.

But, she could never quite discern why. Not now, anyway.

Lexa took in a deep breath as her vision seemed to waver, as it seemed to shift, as it tried to focus on something in the distance, a moving car, a bird that raced through the sky, a man, child, woman or pet that raced through the grass below, whose sounds of joy she knew would exist, would be there for those who could hear.

Lexa took in another deep breath, this one seemingly less confident, less sure, less certain of the one to follow, but she did so. And she found that it had come slowly, had come at a creep, but it had arrived as surely as the sun would rise, and as comfortably as the night settled over the lands. And so she worried not.

She heard the quiet beep then, and it seemed distant, it seemed constant, something she should remember, perhaps something she had remembered sometime in the past.

But she ignored it, if only because a strand of hair seemed to tickle her nose, and as Lexa reached up, as she hooked a finger around it, she couldn’t help but to marvel at the way it still barely clung to the richness of colour it had once sported, whose amber brown had been something she had always secretly cherished, if only because it reminded her of something she couldn’t quite remember anymore, at least not as well as she once did.

She leant back in her chair then, each little movement she made enough to make her body ache ever so slightly, but that, too, she was sure was a familiarity, was a constant, something she had endured for years.

“Mrs Woods,” a voice spoke out to her, and it seemed young, happy, vibrant, something far too youthful for how old she thought of herself now. “Mrs Woods, it’s time,” the voice spoken again, and Lexa shook her head despite the ache in her shoulders.

“Please,” and Lexa couldn’t fight back the smile upon her lips. “Octavia, it’s Lexa,” and she blinked away the clouds in the corners of her sight as she turned to the voice. “It’s just Lexa.”

“Ok, Lexa,” and a woman’s face appeared before her, her eyes vibrant, her hair brilliant, and familiar.

“Octavia?” and Lexa wasn’t so sure she quite knew what else to say. If only because Octavia had hair as dark of the bark of any mighty tree, whose eyes seemed to harbour a challenge, a defiance somewhere deep within the kindness.

“She’s on her honeymoon, with Lincoln,” the woman said softly. “Remember? You made her promise to take lots of pictures, to tell you all about it,” and the woman smiled ever so kindly.

“I—” but Lexa looked away as she tried to remember, as she tried to recall, as she tried to pictu— “Yes,” and she nodded, if only because she was sure that what had been said was the truth. If only because the woman who smiled as her seemed trustworthy. “I remember,” and she reached out and patted the woman’s hand for a moment. “Thank you,” but she found that she paused, if only because she couldn’t quite recall the woman’s name.

“Clarke,” the woman said.

“Oh,” and Lexa couldn’t but be taken aback by the name, if only because she thought she should know, should recall, should recognise who the wom—

“Clarke?” and perhaps for the first time in a while, Lexa found that her mind turned to a life so far removed that she had thought it forgotten, that she had thought it to be a dream.

“That’s me,” Clarke whispered ever so gently, her eyes quiet and thoughtful.

“Oh,” and perhaps Lexa thought herself a little foolish, if only because she was sure this conversation must have happened time and time again from the way Clarke’s eyes harboured the barest hints of humour.

“I’m taking over O’s shifts for the next two weeks,” Clarke said. “Now come on,” she said as she squeezed Lexa’s hand. “Let me get your pills then we can talk all about what O must be getting up to,” she finished with a laugh.

And so Lexa found herself smiling, uncaring of the wrinkles that must have adorned her face, uncaring of the grey that streaked her hair, and the years and years and lifetimes that had existed within her mind.

And she didn’t mind that she had found Clarke too late in this life.

If only because Clarke seemed happy, Clarke seemed free of pain, free of burden, free of guilt, free to do what she wished.

And so Lexa smiled just once more as a thought found a place somewhere deep within her core.

_Maybe next time._


	3. Thanks, Lex

_She took a moment to look around herself, to let her memories catch up to where she now stood. But she looked to the table before her, to the man who sat and waited, and then she took just a few short steps forward before she came to a chair._

_And so she reached out, let the chair legs scrape against the smoothness of the space she stood upon. But the man’s lips broke into a careful smile, something easy, simple, comfortable upon his lips._

_“Good,” he said as he leant forward, the shade of his tie seemingly shifting and dancing before her gaze._

_“I—” but she paused for she knew not what to say, not as memories took hold, not as things began to settle._

_“You don’t need to say anything,” he said with the barest hints of a shrug. “It’s always easier if I explain things first.”_

 

* * *

 

The sounds of the tires, the gravel that crunched, and the wind that whistled through the air echoed out around Lexa as the last of the day’s light began to fade away. Clouds dotted the purpling sky, each one a lone sentinel, their bodies broken to the wind that soared high overhead.

Music played quietly through the speakers, the sounds just barely heard over the humming of the man beside her, whose gaze was cast out the window, whose eyes flickered to every little movement he saw.

“She’s got to be here somewhere,” he said, and Lexa spared just a moment to look his way, to the way his head reflected the last of the light, how the stubble across his cheeks seemed just barely darker than it had in the early morning hours ago.

“What was the description again?” Lexa asked as she looked back to the dirt road they drove across.

“Red car,” he said. “Small, two flat tires,” he paused for a moment, “woman, sounded mid twenties, didn’t seem to think her situation was as bad as it is.”

“What’s she even doing this far out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Am I supposed to know?” he asked, and Lexa couldn’t help but to roll her eyes just a fraction.

“It was rhetorical, Linc,” she said.

But Lexa couldn’t help but to think, to wander what would make someone travel through the wilderness of the forests, where the trees were older than the oldest remnants of society, where animals, those fearsome, and those fearful would stalk and skitter, hide and give chase with each passing day.

“Maybe she’s lived in the city?” Lincoln suggested. “Saw some documentary, thought it’d be a good idea explore?”

“Maybe,” Lexa shrugged as she reached down and flipped a small switch on the dashboard, and she blinked for a moment as floodlights turned on with a click, as they illuminated large swathes of the land before them.

“Hold on,” and Lincoln’s hand rose, his finger pointed outwards, gaze narrowing. “That a car?”

And Lexa followed his gaze as she eased their rescue vehicle to a slowcrawl. But she saw the car, lights dimmed, its colour a deep red, something oddly familiar, something she had once worn as a badge and a symbol of something more, and as memories just barely began to surface she couldn’t help but to feel a tightening of her stomach.

“That’s her,” Lincoln said, and Lexa followed his gaze to see a woman siting atop her car’s roof, hands tucked under her thighs as she kicked her legs aimlessly.

But the woman must have seen and heard their approach for she turned to face them, her gaze squinted to the floodlights that broke across her body, but Lexa saw the smile, something barely contained as a hand came up to wave.

“She really not understand she could have died out here?” Lincoln said as he began rolling down the window.

But Lexa couldn’t quite find it in herself to take too much heed of what Lincoln said, for her gaze traced the curve of the woman’s face, the way her hair seemed to glow in the dark and the light, and the way her eyes seemed to hold a challenge to the world, seemed to care not for whatever dangers lurked in the wilderness.

“Hey,” Lincoln called out his window, his voice breaking through Lexa’s thoughts. “We’re search and rescue,” and he reached out his window and patted the side of the vehicle’s door with a low thump. “You realise this could have been pretty bad, right?”

“I do,” the woman answered as she kicked herself off the side of her car’s roof, feet thumping onto the ground at the same time Lexa pulled their vehicle to a stop. “But nothing’s happened so far,” the woman smiled.

“Yeah, it did,” Lincoln countered. “You’re broken down in the middle of nowhere,” and he pointed to her two front wheels, both clearly flat, punctured.

“But now you guys are here to save me,” she said. “So it all turned out for the best, right?”

“Right,” Lincoln said as he opened to door. “Got ID? Are you hurt? Need medical assistance?”

“Clarke,” the woman answered and she patted down her body. “Not hurt. No medical assistance required,” and Lexa couldn’t fight the emotions that seemed to be taking hold of her as she let herself truly fall into the way Clarke’s voice took hold of her mind.

“What were you even doing out here?” Lincoln asked as he closed the door behind him, one hand scratching his cheek as another came to tuck into his belt.

“Not much,” Clarke answered, and Lexa watched as Clarke looked from Lincoln to now stood out in front of their vehicle, and then to her where she remained seated in the driver’s seat. “Your friend gonna come out and say hi?”

“Lexa’s radioing back the all clear,” Lincoln said as he glanced behind him.

And Lexa cursed herself as she fumbled for the radio, as she tried not to let her hands shake too much to the shock that only now began to wear off.

And so Clarke simply shrugged, smiled and took a step aside as Lincoln moved forward to inspect the damage to her car. And perhaps Lexa couldn’t quite figure out how best to approach the situation she found herself in now. Not when she remembered all that she did. And not when she had seen no sign of recognition within Clarke’s eyes.

But perhaps she didn’t mind. At least not fully. If only because she had found Clarke.

 

* * *

 

“So, Lex,” Clarke said from behind her. “Are you in charge? Or is Lincoln in charge?”

“I have seniority,” Lexa answered as she looked into her rearview mirror for a second to find Clarke eyeing the back of her head.

“That doesn’t really answer the question though,” Clarke said, and Lexa heard jest, she heard ease and contentedness in Clarke’s voice.

And perhaps she found it strange, this Clarke. And it wasn’t that she had never heard just emotion in Clarke’s voice before, but it was simply because she thought that this the first time she could truly remember.

“It does,” Lexa said, and she couldn’t help but to smile as Clarke’s eyes rolled.

“Ok,” and Clarke’s shoulder shrugged just once as she leant back in her seat.

“Does anyone know where you are?” Lincoln asked as the conversation broke.

“Not really,” Clarke answered as she looked out the window, as her gaze seemed to wander to the skies overhead, to the dark of the night and the rising of the moon.

“Not really?” Lincoln echoed.

“Yeah, not really,” Clarke answered. “I just said I was going travelling. That I’d call when and if I needed help,” and Lexa found that she bit her lip as an odd sensation tugged in the pit of her stomach. “So I called you guys,” Clarke finished.

“Do you have friends or family you can stay with?” Lincoln asked.

“Not close by,” Clarke said, but Lexa seemed to sense Clarke’s reluctance to voice more, to say anymore than that, and she knew Lincoln sensed it too, for he glanced her way, worry and concern in his eyes.

But Lexa’s thoughts seemed to move to a place, somewhere without conscious effort, and her mind seemed to spring into action before she even realised what she did.

And so, “I have room,” and Lexa winced just barely at the way Lincoln’s gaze seemed to drill into the side of her head for a moment.

“You have room?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah,” Lexa answered. “Normally another person stays with me during the winter, but she’s finishing a degree. So I’ve got room to spare,” and she tried not to let whatever emotions she knew herself to be feeling be heard. “At least until you get your car fixed. Figure out what to do next?”

And so Clarke took a moment to look away in thought, to glance over her shoulder and out the back window to her small red car that was towed behind them, to the stars in the heavens, and to the forest trees that flashed by as snow began to drift down in a quiet ease.

“Sure, Lex.”

 

* * *

 

The roaring of the engine cut out with a turn of the keys, but noise seemed not to fade for the banging of a hammer against metal, of grumbling, music and the clang of commotion filled the air. Lexa sighed as she took a moment to look out around her, where cars were parked in seemingly no order, engines blocks strewn about, some half built, others in pieces.

“You can get your car fixed here,” Lexa said as she unlocked the doors and pushed it open with her foot. “Raven’s the mechanic, so she’ll get your car up and running with little trouble,” she finished as she turned to find Clarke standing close by, gaze curious as she took in all that she saw.

Lexa took a moment to gauge Clarke’s reaction, to see if she reacted to Raven’s mention, but once more she found herself unable to see any recognition within Clarke’s gaze, and so she sighed quietly to herself, if only because she remembered what the man with the blue tie had said.

But perhaps hope was something she found herself holding on to, no what what he had said.

“Linc,” Lexa called out over the noise. “Can you get Raven? Fill her in about the car?”

“Yeah,” Lincoln said as he shrugged out of the bright orange jacket they both wore. “I’ll go find her.”

“This Raven seems busy for such a small town,” Clarke said then, and Lexa turned back to Clarke to find her eyeing an engine that leaked fluid onto the ground.

“Not really,” Lexa said. “Not this time of the year, Raven just likes tinkering with things,” and Lexa’s head tilted to the side as she watched the way Clarke seemed to let the light play across her fingers she held up to hanging lamp.

But Lexa turned to the sounds of approaching feet to find Raven wiping her hands on her jeans to leave behind grease stains as Lincoln walked beside her.

And the scene she saw surprised her,firm given time, she had found others in each life before she had found Clarke, that she had grown close to Raven as friends, as acquaintances, colleagues at times. That she had become friends with Lincoln in this life, had known Anya in her previous, had had time with Costia. Or at least some time.

But she shook her head, let the memories fade into a long gone dream and she returned Raven’s wave with her own before gesturing to Clarke.

“This is Clarke,” and Lexa tried not to let the smile that threatened to break free be seen too easily.

“You’re the one who got lost? Broke down?” Raven asked as she came to stand before them and cast her gaze to Clarke’s car still hooked up to their rescue vehicle.

“You’re the one whose supposed to fix my car?” Clarke challenged lightly.

“That’s me,” Raven replied.

“Not to be pushy or anything,” Clarke added, “but when’s it going to be fixed?”

Raven looked away in thought for a moment before answering, “A few hours if I get around to it,” and she looked to Lexa for a moment. “maybe tomorrow afternoon, or the morning after,” and she shrugged. “Just depends on how much is actually broken,” and Raven gestured to the car. “I’m guessing it’s more than the two flat tires.”

Lexa found herself quiet as she watched Clarke’s thoughts move from uncertainty to reflection before solidifying.

“Yeah,” and Clarke tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was making a weird sound for the last couple hours.”

“I see,” and Raven’s eyebrow raised as she began moving towards the car. “I don’t really need your help, Lex, so you can probably kick back, relax, do your thing.”

“So I’m being volunteered?” and Lexa couldn’t help but to laugh a little at Lincoln’s words.

“Yeah, dude,” Raven said as her eyes rolled. “Come on, Linc, I thought you had the routine down by now, you’re the newest guy, so you volunteer for everything.”

And so Lexa laughed quietly as she turned to Clarke who seemed happy to take in the exchange.

“Grab anything from the car you need for the night,” Lexa said as she gestured to where she had left her car outside. “My place isn’t far from here.”

“Thanks, Lex,” Clarke said with an ease that seemed to disarm Lexa with little issue.

“No problem, Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t so sure of what to make of the situation. Not when Clarke sat next to her, not when she found herself unable to stop stealing glances at the woman who seemed to pull at every fibre of her being.

But perhaps starting from the beginning was enough, or perhaps it was the only thing she could do, if only because she thought herself different now, she thought herself so far removed from the woman she had once been lifetimes ago.

And so Lexa took a deep breath, let her thoughts try to settle, and she tried to keep her voice from shaking.

“I’ve been working here almost five years, no plans to move, no plans to change jobs,” Lexa said, and she stole a glance at Clarke to find the woman peering out her window and to the lands that flashed past.

“You must love it herem” Clarke answered, and Lexa thought the woman’s mind elsewhere.

“I do,” Lexa agreed as she turned back to the road. “I’ve always liked the outdoors,” and she had, for as long as she could remember.

“Yeah,” but from Clarke’s tone, Lexa was sure the woman hadn’t quite heard.

“What were you doing?” and Lexa wondered what had happened in Clarke’s life, if she had been happy, had been cared for.

Lexa sensed Clarke turn to face her then and she wondered what expression would be on her face, whether it would be curiosity, guarded worry, an anger, a frustration, perhaps even uncertainty.

“I wanted to see the sunset,” Clarke’s voice came out a little more quietly than it had been moments ago.

“Why?” and Lexa couldn’t quite hold back the question that she let slip. But Clarke seemed to not want to answer, if only because Lexa heard a pause, a moment of indecision, maybe even fear. “You don’t have to answer,” she added.

“I just like it,” Clarke said though, and once more, Lexa was certain she heard something in Clarke’s tone, in the way her words seemed to fade at the edges. “My dad,” and Lexa knew she recognised a hurt in Clarke’s voice. “We would watch the sun set when I was a kid,” Clarke paused once more, long enough for memories to take hold. “I just missed it.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s house was small, quiet, tucked away in the outskirts of the town she had come to call home away from home. Town, house and building bordered once side, and the other seemed graced by the forests that sprung out around them, that stretched out as far as the eye could see, that would trap would-be adventurer and naive hiker.

But Lexa never quite found it annoying to have to search for those in need, to have to spend hours in the cold tracking, following, searching and rescuing.

And so she sighed as she hitched her bag a little higher onto her shoulders as she fumbled with her keys, the warmth of her home’s interior beckoning her forward teasingly through the gaps of her front door.

“Nice place,” Clarke said after a too long awkward moment.

“I make do,” Lexa said over her shoulder.

And with that the door swung open, she stepped inside and she flicked the lights on, each one turning on slowly, their yellow light warm and subtle as they began to fill her home.

Lexa looked to Clarke to find her eyeing a picture that hung upon the wall, one of her and Octavia and Lincoln, the three of them happy, smiling, the orange of their clothes enough to be seen for miles in the wilderness.

“Is this the other person whose supposed to be here with you?” Clarke asked, and Lexa found herself slowing falling into Clarke’s voice with each word that was spoken.

“Yeah,” and she let her bag drop onto the wooden floor with a quiet thump. “Octavia is Lincoln’s girlfriend,” and Lexa leant against the wall, tucked one hand into a deep, fleece lined pocket, and let the other scratch her jaw for a moment. “She’s finishing a degree, but then she’ll be down here full time with us.”

“Ah,” and Clarke’s voice trailed off as she took a step back from the picture and came to face Lexa, eyes taking in the rest of the interior, from the couch that peeked out from around a corner Lexa knew was behind her, and to the kitchen table, its surface covered in small models she found herself making in her spare time.

“I’ll show you to her room,” Lexa said a little awkwardly, and perhaps for just a moment to found herself thinking that it had been a mistake to offer Clarke a place to stay.

And so Lexa turned and began to make her way down the hall and to Octavia’s room.

“You seem young to be the leader or boss or whatever,” Clarke said, and Lexa turned to find Clarke eyeing her curiously.

“I started straight after school,” Lexa answered. “It’s mostly volunteers who work during different seasons,” and Lexa paused as she switched on another light. “But the last full time person retired,” and she found herself smiling at the memory of Indra, who had fought back the tears, who had only let the barest twitching of a lip show the emotion she kept hidden. “So I got promoted, sort of,” and Lexa shrugged. “At least until someone with more experience comes in, but that hasn’t happened for almost two years.”

“I see,” and Clarke shifted her bag’s strap a little more comfortably over her shoulder.

“The bathroom,” Lexa added as they walked by a room, whose interior seemed just a little colder than the rest of the house. “And your room,” Lexa finished as she took a step aside to reveal Octavia’s room, its interior neat, well put together, and soon to be a mess once the other woman’s studies finished. “I’ll let you get settled, then we can think about dinner, if you’re hungry.”

 

* * *

 

“How was it?” Raven asked.

“Last night?” and Lexa frowned for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Awkward,” Lexa answered, and it had been, if only because Clarke’s mood seemed to swing between careless worry and quiet contemplation and uncertainty.

“Why?” Raven asked as she reached into a mess of tools that lay by her side.

“I don’t know,” and Lexa shrugged, she tried pinpointing the moment when it had become awkward, from the quiet meal they had shared at the kitchen table to Clarke watching something on the TV while Lexa had prepared her go bag for the next day.

“She explain why she’s out here all alone?” and the question gave Lexa pause for just a second as she thought over what little she knew.

“Not really,” she answered. “But I’m thinking family trouble,” but she felt like she shouldn’t pry, shouldn’t push the subject. “How long’s the car going to take?”

“Probably tomorrow morning, maybe eleven, eleven thirty,” Raven said as she slid under the car. “There’s a lot on the verge of breaking,” Lexa heard. “It looks like Clarke’s been driving it hard without caring about it’s condition for a while.”

Lexa didn’t mean to pry, didn’t even mean for the words to slip out, but, “how long do you think she’s driving it like this?”

“I don’t know,” Raven answered. “Normally you’d see this kind of wear on a car years older, though,” and Raven sighed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been driving like this for a bit over a year, maybe almost two.”

Lexa didn’t quite know what to make of that, she didn’t even think she felt comfortable pushing the subject with Clarke, if only because she knew to Clarke, she was a stranger, someone who had simply offered a warm bed for the night, who had never been seen before, but for Lexa, Clarke was more, was lifetimes worth of memories that sometimes took hold when she let her eyes close and her mind wander, and who, in her waking moments, would always seem to exist just past the edges of her consciousness.

“Where is she now?” and Raven’s question broke through Lexa’s wandering thoughts, and as she blinked for a moment and took in the way Raven’s head stuck out from under the car, from the way her eyebrows quirked together, Lexa was sure Raven sensed something more.

“I don’t actually know,” Lexa answered. “She asked to be dropped off, wanted to explore town I guess, maybe go for a hike.”

“She leave her things at your place?” Raven asked, and Lexa found that Raven’s question seemed a little worried now.

“Nope,” and Lexa took a moment to look into Clarke’s car. “She took her stuff with her.”

“Ah,” and Raven’s lips pulled down in worry for just a fraction of a second.

“You don’t think she’s gone off on her own again?” and Lexa could feel the worry beginning to build again.

“Maybe you should go looking for her,” Raven said as she dipped back under the car. “Just to be safe.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa wasn’t entirely sure why she drove the way she drove, but perhaps she had a feeling, something that wriggled in the back of her mind, and so she let her eyes move from tree trunk to tree trunk, across the dirt road beaten to the elements, and she tried to think of what Clarke would do, or perhaps what _her_ Clarke would do, if only because she knew not what this Clarke had gone through.

But Lexa came to her journey’s end as suddenly as she had found herself in the car. A fallen tree lay across the dirt road, its bark worn, broken, moss covered and green. She took only a moment to scan around herself, to the trees, to the bushes, to the sun that shone brilliantly in the sky overhead, whose rays of light fought for every inch of land they could cast a shadow upon.

And so she stepped out of her car, took a moment to settle her bag on her shoulders, thumbed the knife tucked into her belt and checked the radio on her hip before she began moving forward.

And she knew where to go now, and it wasn’t something known, something consciously thought of, but she was sure she walked the right path forward.

The forest always seemed quiet, always seemed peaceful to Lexa. Each step she took simply faded away to join the noise of the animals, of those that scurried underfoot, and to those that soared in the sky far above.

Trees she stepped by were tall, their trunks broad and moss covered, colours she saw were green, brown, sometimes red, sometimes, sometimes blue, sometimes splashes of colours she couldn’t place. But she knew what it reminded her of, and she knew what it made her remember.

She took in a deep breath as she continued to find her way forward, her steps careful and quiet, her eyes ever guarded as she looked out around herself for she knew not to become too unguarded in the forests for animals still roamed the lands, whose nature was honest, whose temperaments were fierce.

Lexa walked for long minutes, for long enough that she thought she could sense the barely there shifting of the sun overhead, but she knew she had come to her destination as the trees broke, as they thinned, and as they opened up to reveal a valley, something vast, sprawling.

Lexa paused at the tree and she took in the scene before her. The land dipped down suddenly a stone’s throw from where she sat, and it delved deep down until it flowed into a valley, as wide as it was vast. Each side was dominated by forest covered lands, the trees so dense they seemed to carpet the lands, their size so small to the distance that Lexa thought the edges of her vision faded. A river stretched out down below, its body snaked, wove and wended a path through the lands, and the sun glowed off its surface, a guiding beacon of light, golden and brilliant and a stark contrast the depths of the green.

And Lexa thought all those things beautiful, she thought all those things magnificent. But above all, she saw Clarke, back to her, sitting on a fallen tree that must have once been proud and determined, the last of its kind to brave the outskirts of the forest before finding a place amongst the smallest of neighbours.

Though Lexa saw only Clarke’s back, she thought she could tell that the woman looked out to the horizon, to where the sun would eventually set. And so she took just a moment to commit to memory the scene before her, and then she took a step forward, her motion a little more firm, a little more loud than it needed to be.

Clarke’s head turned to face her ever so slowly, and despite the distance, Lexa knew she could see a pain etched behind the blue of Clarke’s gaze.

“You didn’t have to come looking for me,” Clarke’s voice reached out to her over the small distance.

“I didn’t want you to get stuck out here at night,” Lexa said as she came to a stop beside Clarke.

“Sit,” and Clarke patted a spot beside her on the fallen tree.

And so, as Lexa came to sit beside Clarke, she found herself unsure, uncertain of why Clarke felt so at ease with her.

“Raven says your car will be fixed by eleven, maybe a bit later,” and Lexa couldn’t help but grimace just a little at the words she said, if only because she thought it unkind to the moment.

“Thanks,” Clarke turned back to the distance, to the lands and the sun.

“This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?” Lexa asked, and she found herself following Clarke’s gaze into the distance.

“Yeah,” and Clarke took in a deep breath, the motion shaky, uncertain. “I thought I could make it before sunset,” she said, and Lexa was sure she heard a wetness to Clarke’s words. “I thought I’d get there in time,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to hear the pain.

Lexa didn’t know what to say to that, not when her heart seemed to ache with each word she heard, with each pain she felt. But she found herself remembering the words the man had said so very long ago, of Clarke never to remember, of herself being cursed to remember for them both. And she knew it foolish to try to reach Clarke with a past lost to them both, she knew it foolish to try to reconnect what had been been. But perhaps she could build something new. Something real.

“I lost someone special to me once,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel just a slight glimmer of love somewhere deep in her core. “We met, so long ago,” and Lexa took in a deep breath as she looked up into the sky, to the birds that drifted on the winds.

“What happened?” and the question came to quietly that Lexa could have missed it had she not etched Clarke’s voice into the very fibres of her being.

“I did something,” Lexa said, and she found that the guilt, the pain and the anguish would always exist, sometimes as fierce as a burning fire, sometimes as dulled as the heat of a long gone ember.

“Something you regret?” Clarke asked, and Lexa didn’t need to meet Clarke’s gaze to know the woman looked at her.

“So very much,” Lexa said. “More than anything,” and she bit her lip, let the pain fill her senses. “I spent so long trying to make amends for what I did,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to laugh bitterly, tiredly. “I spent every waking moment trying to tell her I was sorry, through action, through word.”

“But it wasn’t enough?” Clarke’s voice came gentle on the wind.

“It was,” Lexa said as she shook her head and remembered the way the knife had felt pressed to her throat, to the way the pain had been so visible within the depths of blue eyes. “But not before it was too late,” and she remembered hearing the gunshots echo out, she remembered the panic, the realisation fo where they had come from, “and even then,” Lexa found that she cried now, not something visible, not something known, but enough that only Clarke would have seen and sensed. “I tried to tell her,” Lexa remembered the pain as she had burst through the door, she remembered the pain, the anger, the fury, the regret. “But she didn’t realise, or maybe I just didn’t do enough until it was too late,” and Lexa remembered. “So now I try to tell her in any way I can, with each new day, that I’m sorry, even she doesn’t remember, doesn’t think of me. Doesn’t even really care anymore,” Lexa turned her gaze from the sky, and she let herself look to Clarke.

“I think she would know,” Clarke said, and Lexa thought the words honest, she thought the words truthful. “Maybe she doesn’t love you anymore, maybe she hasn’t forgiven you,” and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel a longing and a desperation. “But she’d have to know, somehow,” and Clarke smiled ever so sadly. “Somehow she knows you care.”

“I hope so,” and Lexa did, so very much.

They fell silent then, but Lexa didn’t mind. And she didn’t for she knew she would cherish every moment she had with Clarke, she would try to hold on to her for as long as she could, if she could.

But Clarke took in a deep breath, something broken, something that seemed to tremble, that seemed to be full of pain.

“My dad died,” Clarke said, and Lexa thought it important for her to remain quiet, to let Clarke continue. “Everyone’s dad dies eventually,” and Lexa turned to Clarke to see the tears falling. “But I didn’t expect it, didn’t think about it. Didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye,” and Lexa thought of telling Clarke that she was sorry, that she wished for the woman to never have felt the pain, but she didn’t, and she didn’t for she thought Clarke could see the words within her eyes. “We’d watch the sun rise,” she continued. “When I was a kid. We’d watch it rise, or we’d watch it set, where we went on holidays. No matter how cold, no matter how hot.”

“That’s why you were here?” Lexa couldn’t help but to break the careful quiet with the question.

“Yeah,” and Clarke blinked for a long moment. “We came here when I was a kid. I left everything behind almost two years ago,” and Lexa watched as Clarke shook her head. “I’ve been revisiting all the places we’ve been,” Clarke paused then, and Lexa wondered what Clarke thought, she wondered what Clarke felt. “It makes me feel close to him, makes me feel like he’s not really gone,” and Lexa watched as a tear fell from Clarke’s eyes. “I tell myself that if I don’t stop moving, if I’m always on the road, always going somewhere, then the truth won’t catch up to me, that his death won’t settle,” and Clarke shook her head, and Lexa watched as a strand of golden hair fell from the single braid to brush against Clarke’s cheek. “And I know I should move on. I know grieving for so long is stupid, is sad. I know everyone else probably thinks I’m crazy—”

“I don’t.”

Clarke smiled ever so softly at that, but Lexa knew the motion didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Lexa added, and her words came out soft.

“This was the last stop in my journey,” and Clarke looked back out to the horizon. “I told myself that after this one I’d go home. I’d try to move on,” she paused once more. “But I don’t know,” Clarke shrugged. “Maybe I’m scared. But I’ll take it one step at a time,” Clarke nodded to herself. “I’ll see the sunset. Then I’ll decide what to do after. And then after that, I’ll decide what to do. And I’ll decide after that. Until I run out of decisions to make.”

And with that Clarke seemed to find a peace somewhere within her mind, and Lexa watched as that same smile began to rest a little more peacefully across Clarke’s face as she turned her gaze to the horizon.

And perhaps Lexa had other responsibilities, perhaps she should return to Lincoln, to where she had left him to man the radios, perhaps even to Raven, to ask if she needed help. But Lexa thought what she did now was the only way she could apologise to Clarke this time. And she did, for she thought Clarke’s pain something she couldn’t heal, not with tying her to a place full of memories now broken.

But most of all, Lexa knew she would do anything to ease Clarke’s pain in any life they were to have, or to share. And she knew that Clarke could heal, but only if she had the chance to move on.

“I’ll stay with you until the sun sets,” Lexa said ever so gently. “If you want me to stay.”

Clarke pulled her gaze from the horizon ever so slowly at that, and Lexa couldn’t help but to feel a sorrow etch its way into her heart at the tears that glistened upon Clarke’s cheeks, but seem unashamed, unhindered by embarrassment or pride.

“I’d like that,” Clarke said, and this time Lexa was sure the smile upon Clarke’s lips found the corners of her eyes. “Thanks, Lex.”

Lexa reached out ever so slowly, the motion careful enough that Clarke could pull her hand away if she desired. But Clarke’s hand remained where it was resting upon the fallen tree’s bark.

Lexa’s hand came to hold Clarke’s, but Lexa made no other moves, no other motions. If only because she knew that in this life, what Clarke needed most was a friend.

And so, as Lexa turned to the horizon, to the blue of the sky and the golden rays of light that graced the lands before her, she found a thought and a hope echo out through her mind.

_Maybe next time._


End file.
